Pieces of a Circle
by hoshiww
Summary: Happiness comes in bits and pieces, touching and teasing the circle at will.


_**Pieces of a Circle**_

**Genre**: General  
><strong>Rating<strong>: K  
><strong>Summary<strong>: Happiness comes in bits and pieces, touching and teasing the circle at will.

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><p>The wind whispers quietly, threading through the white ribbons and dancing lightly in his orange hair. He could hear the Earth breathing. In. Out. In. And out again. It's like a small cycle, a never-ending cycle. It calms him a little in the midst of this dangerous night. Perhaps, he muses silently, he will never again experience that peace that had defined his life before he was fifteen. But then again, he remembers he had never been free of the monsters anyway, not since he was nine.<p>

The first drop lands on his cheek, but he ignores it in favour of standing motionlessly. Spirit Ribbons is still not something he is practised at, so if his attention were to be diverted elsewhere, who knew what monsters will escape his radar.

The second drop clings to his eyelash and he has to blink rapidly to rid himself of the annoying thing. He leaves it to join its cousin in running down his chin. It is unimportant. Rain, wind, fire and pain are unimportant in the face of his duty, a burden he has willingly taken on. And he will stand by it to the end, will see to it until he withers, will watch until he is sure there is another to take on his role of protection. Someone to succeed him, perhaps someone not as strong, a person with great determination but does not have the spiritual pressure he holds that attracts enemies.

But his broken hope is not for a successor, but for all to never wield the sword.

The pen clatters onto the table, rolls, then drops off. Orihime makes no move to reach for it, instead she lays her head onto the desk, not caring that smudges may appear on her cheek. She is still dressed in her part time work clothes, an initiative she had promised herself to keep for at least a year to make her more independent from her distant relatives. After all, when she finally turns eighteen, there will be no one to help keep the roof over her head.

She stays there, still and silent, the homework yet incomplete. She will finish it, probably tomorrow morning before school. Right now, she desperately needs some rest, but she can't make herself move. She watches as the water traces jagged lines down her window, as if the glass were crying tears. And those tears will fall, join on the ground, find its way to a drain and rush towards the ocean. There, it will reunite with all of its cousins. Then the water will be pulled up once again by the sun and condense into clouds. Maybe, Orihime thinks dully, the same droplet that is running down the window at this exact moment will be dumped again on this very window.

The water cycle is never-ending. Never-ending, like this routine of hers: wake, homework, school, work, eat, homework, sleep, wake, homework, school, work, eat, homework…

Orihime drifted off.

The sky is a beautiful thing. It can express so many different emotions, from a cheery bright purple in the morning, to the tired red of the sunset, to the calmness of the night. Rukia believes that the night sky is the prettiest— the stars that shine are bright in their beauty. She wishes that Byakuya would sit by her and enjoy this view and the refreshing air, but he is inside, praying to Hisana.

Byakuya believes that he had lost everything. Rukia had vehemently denied it, citing Kuchiki honour and respect as Captain of Sixth Division. Silently she had added '_and me_', but had dared not to voice it. Byakuya had looked at her then, and had he been any other person, the expression would have been a sad smile. But Byakuya being Byakuya had merely walked away.

Ukitake is subdued too. Perhaps it is his tuberculosis catching up, but Rukia suspects it was more to do with the sinking fact that, yes, Aizen is gone. It is one thing to find out Aizen was a traitor, it is another to realise that he no longer exists; it is one thing to wish him gone, it is another for it to happen.

It is a cycle of loss. For Byakuya, first it was his mentor, Yoruichi, and then it was Hisana. For Ukitake, first it was Kaien, and then it was Aizen.

And Rukia?

Rukia wants to count herself lucky, that she had not lost anyone. But she would be lying to no one but herself. Ichigo is lost to her, Orihime had grown up, Renji is training to become a Captain, Ukitake had withdrawn and Byakuya is spending a little-too-much time with Hisana's photo.

A shooting star lights up the sky and Rukia quickly closes her eyes, hands gripping the wooden railings of the veranda.

Maybe she can break out of the circle yet. The end has passed, hasn't it?

Urahara tickles the chin of the black cat. Inside the room Ururu sleeps soundly, her slow and rhythmic breathing echoing in the silence of the night, accompanied softly by the rain. He often thinks about this question, one of his musings as an amateur philosopher: When did one life begin and another end? As a person dies in the Living World, the soul moves to Soul Society. There, when their life ends, they will either turn into spirit particles or once again is reborn in the Living World. It's a cycle, a circle. If they were the same soul, then did that mean their whole journey from one World to another was their life? Then when did they begin? Here, in the Living World, or over there, in Soul Society?

More importantly to Urahara, where did this end? Maybe souls are destined to be reincarnated over and over, ferried between the Worlds over and over, with not an end in sight.

Really, must life march on like that? It is tiresome to keep up.

"Stop overexerting yourself thinking," Yoruichi quietly reprimands. "We'll just live out this life."

There!

The black ribbon is already in his hand the moment it appears. A split second after, Ichigo is hurtling across the town. Step, flash, step, he is above the Hollow without it ever suspecting. Zangetsu's bandages unfurl. In a wide arc, the blade is brought down with resolution, banishing the monster from this world. As Ichigo lands, he swishes the sword behind and up around, completing a full circle with it, slashing water droplets apart.

Ichigo slowly bends down and picks up the white cloth, and with a calm precision, wraps the blade up again. With great strength, Ichigo jumps onto the top of a nearby roof and focuses the Spirit Ribbons back into the air.

And thus life goes on in a circle, Ichigo mulls. He'll never reach the end, never find his happily ever after of those fairytales. Happiness comes in bits and pieces, touching and teasing the circle at will.

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><p><strong>AN**: Decided to upload this. This was entry for SMASH!'s fanfic competition. It didn't win, which is rather sad. Oh well. Meh.

Thanks for reading,  
><strong>x. TANgled<strong>


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